


When I Taste Tequila

by rebeccaofsbfarm



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Body Shots, Drunken Shenanigans, It's not porn, M/M, but it def reads like porn, drunk!buddie, it's only second base
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:42:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23818627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebeccaofsbfarm/pseuds/rebeccaofsbfarm
Summary: Eddie Diaz wakes up to a heavy weight on his chest. His head is swimming, and he is afraid to open his eyes. Where had he been? Was he on a call?It was then that the weight snores, a burst of air leaving its chest as it lets out a coo of contentment. Eddie realizes that he is bare chested, as is the person pressed against him. Eddie is now even more hesitant to open his eyes.Facing the truth, he takes a peek and realizes that it is far worse than he thought. He does recognize the half-naked person lying on top of him. It’s Buck.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley & Maddie Buckley, Evan “Buck” Buckley & Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Maddie Buckley/Howie "Chimney" Han
Comments: 12
Kudos: 351





	When I Taste Tequila

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends, I am new to this particular fandom, but I am a close Tumblr observer. I haven't written fic in years, but thanks to COVID-19, well, here I am. Any similarities to an existing work are not malicious, I'm just new.
> 
> I had these two little plot bunnies that turned into the same fic, and in this case, it was the end of the fic I thought of first.
> 
> The title is from Tequila by Dan + Shay, which is not an accurate depiction of what happens in this fic, but I was desperate for a title that made sense. If you want a song that is more like the story, try Black by Dierks Bentley.
> 
> I hope you like it!

Eddie Diaz wakes up to a heavy weight on his chest. His head is swimming, and he is afraid to open his eyes. Where had he been? Was he on a call?

It was then that the weight snores, a burst of air leaving its chest as it lets out a coo of contentment. Eddie realizes that he is bare chested, as is the person pressed against him. Eddie is now even more hesitant to open his eyes.

Facing the truth, he takes a peek and realizes that it is far worse than he thought. He does recognize the half-naked person lying on top of him. It’s Buck.

* * *

“Come on Hen, when did you turn into such a party pooper?” Buck cajoles from the corner of the booth. Hen had paid her tab and is saying her goodbyes.

Hen rolls her eyes. She was hard to persuade at the best of times, least of all by Evan Buckley.

“It’s past my bedtime, and it’s almost Denny’s, which means I gotta head home,” she declares, picking up her purse and giving a final wave. “But happy birthday Buckaroo, enjoy the rest of your night!”

Eddie looks across the table to Buck, who looks slightly disappointed, but is unable to argue with the validity of bedtime rituals. Checking his watch, he sees that it is around the time Christopher will be going to bed at abuela’s. He had been excited at the promise of a sleepover, and Eddie had been excited at the thought of a night off. Buck only turned twenty-nine once, right?

“I think we might head out too,” Maddie says, her voice pitched to let Buck down. Buck lets loose his bottom lip in a pout of betrayal, but she and Chimney are buzzed and Chim's hand had been trailing lower and lower down her back all night. “But I’ll leave the tab open for you.”

Buck smirks, unable to argue with the gift of free booze, and kisses his elder sister on the cheek before releasing her, “Text me when you get home?”

“You too,” she reminds him, before grabbing for her purse.

Chimney doesn’t look even a little sorry, and he and Buck share a look across the table that says, _Happy Birthday Buck. I'm about to fuck your sister_.

Eddie chuckles at Buck's glare, before finishing off his third beer. He has a healthy buzz going, and Buck is just ahead of him. As Chimney and Maddie retreat, he scoots closer to Buck in the booth.

“So what now?” he asks, and Buck starts to smirk, which has never once been a good sign. He waves his hand to call over a waitress.

As she approaches, Buck finally answers, “You up for a challenge Diaz? Pick a number.”

“Eighteen,” he says, his eyes falling to the LAFD shirt Buck is wearing, once again a size tighter than he requires. Eddie wonders if Buck has put on weight since he’d gotten fitted for the department or if he was just peacocking. Knowing Buck it was the latter. He realizes then that maybe he should have asked a few questions before providing Buck with an answer.

“You heard the man,” he says, his dimple charming the waitress instantly. Her face lights up with the thought of going home with a firefighter in a tight shirt and a great body. Not a chance. “Eighteen shots of Patrón please.”

Eddie snaps out of his sudden flare of jealousy when he processes what Buck said. His eyes go wide as the waitress returns with a tray of shot glasses. Buck takes the tray and dismisses her, much to her chagrin, and begins to arrange nine shots each in front of them. He picks up the saltshaker and shakes salt onto his wrist before offering it to Eddie.

“You sure about this, Buck?” he asks, trying to be the grown up in this situation, but reaches out to take the saltshaker anyway.

“Next year I’ll be thirty and I won’t be allowed to have this much fun,” Buck teases, a direct attack against Eddie who has a few years on him. “Come on, old man.”

For a moment, he has a vision of his tía asking him the age old question, “If your friends jumped off a cliff, would you follow them?” Immediately, his brain replies, _I would for Buck_.

It’s only a flash, and then before he knows what he’s doing, he has licked the salt and felt the bite of tequila hit the back of his throat. Desperately, he grabs for a lime wedge and bites down.

Buck laughs at him like it is the height of comedy.

“I’m a single father. Do you think I’m in the practice of doing tequila shots?” Eddie defends himself, before realizing that he does indeed sound like an old man. “Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t say 118 huh?”

Buck seems to read his mind, and after taking his first shot, pushes the next one toward Eddie. This one goes down easier, he thinks. By the eighth shot, he has forsaken the lime, and barely tastes the tequila as it goes down.

He and Buck keep pace, and now they are both slack against the booth, sinking down until their knees knock beneath the table’s surface.

“You okay?” Buck asks, and Eddie feels afloat. For once, the stress is gone, and he feels relief. He hasn’t been this drunk in a decade. He nods and reaches out for the last shot glass.

“Last one,” Eddie declares, raising his glass. Buck clinks his glass against his. Before he even processes that he is taking the shot, the glass is empty in front of him. “Jesus Buck, I am _trashed_.”

“Shit, me too,” Buck laughs. “Guess we should get a ride, huh?”

It takes both of them multiple attempts to successfully order an Uber on Eddie’s phone, and Eddie has the presence of mind to ask for two glasses of water, even if it’s only a drop in the pond.

“Thanks for putting up with my shit Ed,” Buck says, and a warm fondness settles over his face. He looks close to tears. “You’re my best friend.”

“Drink,” Eddie warned him, pushing the water glass forward. When Buck looks stricken, he adds, “Jesus, Buck of course you’re my best friend. Everybody already thinks we’re married.”

“Mr. and Mr. Buckley Evan Diaz,” Buck declares, before erupting into drunk laughter. “I’d take your last name of course. So Christopher wouldn't have to change his.”

 _Huh_ , Eddie thinks through the fog. _Has Buck thought about this before? Otherwise, why would he think of it now, all of a sudden_?

“You do realize that Buckley is your last name, not your first?” he says, trying his hardest to put every word in order as they float around him. Buck’s name seems to be the only thing he can cling to.

“It’s the name on my ass,” he answers, and Eddie knows he is lost, until Buck lifts himself out of the seat and gestures to his butt, “On the gear. It’s right here.”

People are looking at them, with Buck half-standing and gesturing to his ass, and Eddie decides that it may be time to take their leave. His new directive is the door, and the moment he stands he knows it will be a bit of a trial. Neither he nor Buck is particularly mobile, and it takes the force of them leaning against one another to make any progress.

The humidity hits them at the door, and he searches for his phone to see where the Uber is. While he tries, unsuccessfully, to unlock his phone, Buck has begun to wander to the windows of cars idling in front of the bar, gesturing and mouthing the word _uber_ over and over.

 _Chris’s birthday, duh_ , he remembers and types in the code. He sees the make and model of the Uber just as Buck reaches the last car. He jogs to catch up, or he thinks he does, but his feet are heavy and it takes longer than expected.

The driver looks like he has seen some shit and is not going to take any of theirs, so they tuck into the backseat as he drives them back to Buck’s. Eddie feels himself getting drowsy but knows he has to drink more water to level out his blood alcohol before he falls asleep. Buck does not seem to be processing this at the same rate, and instead uses Eddie’s shoulder to support his head as he begins to nod off.

Eddie swears he is doing a great job of staying awake and being the responsible one, until he bolts awake to the sound of a loud car horn, realizing that he is inside the car and the driver is trying to get their attention. Buck reacts like one of Pavlov’s dogs and drags Eddie bodily from the backseat, effortlessly throwing him over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift before Eddie can react. Immediately, Buck sways with the uneven weight distribution, and threatens to fall over.

Eddie is suddenly sobered by the thought of his skull meeting the pavement from this height. He curses in Spanish for almost thirty seconds before he remembers that Buck is not bilingual and instead shouts, “Put me down!”

“Nah,” Buck replies, knowing that Eddie can’t exactly take his knees out from six feet in the air. He steadies himself before walking up to his apartment door. One of his hands lets go of Eddie to search for his keys, before he realizes how unsteady that is and grabs on again, but stubbornly refuses to put him down. “Keys. Back pocket. Can you grab ‘em?”

Eddie doesn’t know what inspires him to do so, though it was probably that ninth shot kicking in, but he smacks Buck’s ass before digging in his pockets for the keys. He smacks his ass again to signal that he has them, and this time Buck smacks his in return, hard.

“Jesus Buck,” he shouts, and he can feel Buck chuckling to himself. He swats at his arm, trying to pass him the keys. “Would you take these?”

“Sorry man, my hands are full,” Buck teases, and turns away from the door. “Think you can get it?”

Eddie struggles to find an angle that works from six feet in the air and misses multiple times before fitting the key into the lock. Finally, he convinces the lock to turn and shoves the door open. Once they clear the door, Buck strides to the couch before dropping him unceremoniously onto the cushions.

The momentum of dropping Eddie throws Buck off balance, and instead he falls forward, on top of him. Buck lands somewhere in Eddie’s lap and seems to panic, frozen in place.

“You done?” Eddie asks, his dad voice escaping from his mouth before he laughs at himself. It seems to break Buck’s trance, and he struggles to his feet.

“I’m thinking a night cap,” Buck declares, like he isn’t stumbling over his own feet as he takes to the kitchen. “Might as well make it an even ten, right?”

Eddie is already absolutely _pissed_ , which means that there is nothing stopping him from taking _another_ shot. Buck busies himself with cutting up a lime at the counter, and Eddie wonders if maybe the knife is a bad idea, but by the time he questions it, Buck had already thrown it in the sink.

Buck stands at the counter and watches Eddie for a long moment, and once Eddie notices, he begins to stare back. There is something crackling between them. He is almost sure it has something to do with the tequila, but the ends of his fingertips feel like pinpricks, telling him that something is happening here. Buck must sense the tension, because he looks down at the counter, then back up at Eddie.

“Hey Eds, do you trust me?” Buck asks, breaking the silence like a feather cutting through steel.

 _Implicitly_ , would have been the accurate answer, but that word is nowhere to be found. Instead Eddie nods steadily.

“Lie down,” Buck asks, before adding gently. “And close your eyes.”

Eddie does as he asks, trying to relax as his ears tune to the sound of Buck in the kitchen, then his footsteps as they cross the hardwood.

Something cold settles against his leg, and Buck is lifting the hem of his shirt up midway to his chest. His fingers graze the hair on Eddie’s stomach. For a moment he pauses, and Eddie can hear a shudder release from Buck’s lips.

“Buck?” he questions, wondering what Buck sees that concerns him.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Buck’s tone is thick but steady, and Eddie knows that he will stop if he tells him to. But he’s curious, too curious to answer in the affirmative. So instead he answers, “No, go ahead.”

He hears a grinding noise and his midsection tickles as something falls against his abs. Whatever the cold thing is against his leg, Buck lifts it and begins to pour something cold and wet…into his belly button.

Body shots. Eddie has never been on this side of one, but he shivers at the contact, how gentle Buck’s fingers are as they reach for his chin, gently maneuvering his mouth open and pressing a slice of lime between his lips. And then Buck waits for a moment, he doesn’t know why, before he feels the warmth of Buck’s _tongue_ against his _navel_.

Before he can even begin to process that with his tequila-soaked cerebrum, Buck’s mouth is on his, the lime between his teeth, and a sound escapes his mouth before he realizes that it came from him.

Their lips don’t touch, but both sets of teeth cling to the lime, and Eddie can feel Buck’s breath ghost along his lips before releasing the rind. He opens his eyes to find Buck staring at him, looking…parched.

Buck gets up off his knees (had he been on his knees this whole time, Eddie wonders) to toss the rest of the lime in the trash.

“Haven’t done that since I was a bartender,” Buck claims, proudly. “I was curious to see if it worked with…all that.”

He gesticulates at Eddie’s exposed midsection because words seem to fail him, but Eddie leans up on his elbows and probes, glancing down at his salt covered abdomen, “What is _that_?”

“I’m sorry,” Buck scoffs. “Are we pretending that I couldn't bounce a nickel off of your six-pack abs, Edmundo? Nah man, especially after…” he begins to count on his fingers before giving up, “Let’s just say _some_ shots.”

“Is that a thing you’ve noticed?” Eddie teases him, shifting to expose more of his chest. Buck hesitates, and he seems to be trying to gather his thoughts.

“Noticed?” Buck asks, his voice almost a whisper. “Let’s just say that if I had a been on the committee for that firefighter of the month calendar, your abs would be January through May and your ass would be June to December.”

“My ass?” Eddie asks, teasing Buck, but once again feeling the crackling between them. Buck opens his mouth to defend himself, suddenly feeling self-conscious after realizing what he has admitted to, until Eddie stands and orders him to sit down. When Buck stalls, he gives him a sturdy shove in the center of his chest.

As he lands on the sofa, Eddie watches Buck’s eyes flare. _Of course_ Buck has a thing for authority, Eddie thinks. The power starts to go to his head…and then to his brain.

“Take your shirt off,” he says with the same self-assured tone, and he can feel Buck watching him as he goes to the kitchen, grabbing another lime. He returns, and asks, more gently now, “Now, lie back.”

Buck adjusts a pillow behind his head, his eyes wide open and sobered, as he watches Eddie prepare. Eddie tracks from Buck’s eyes down to his navel, and maybe for the first time, he is really looking. Eddie is fit, he works out, he looks good. But Buck, Buck is an Adonis. Built like a brick shithouse with no body fat. Absently, he reaches out to place the lime between Buck’s lips, but Buck presses his lips to the side of Eddie’s thumb and it’s so intimate that he nearly loses himself.

Instead, he focuses on his task. The saltshaker is on the floor where it had been discarded, one of those ridiculous grinder ones that makes Buck feel like a gourmet, and turns the knob until Buck’s abs are dusted with salt crystals. He pours an overfull shot of tequila into Buck’s navel, then does something he hadn’t planned. He starts his tongue at the dip of Buck’s hips, just above his fly, before licking up to his navel and taking the shot.

It tastes like sweat and salt and _sex_ , and when he bites into the lime, it is only to spit it out onto the floor before he crushes Buck’s mouth with his own. His desperation is met by Buck’s _longing_ and shit, he had been longing, hadn’t he? For Eddie this is all new and real, but for Buck this is a long-held fantasy and he’s holding onto it with everything he has.

Somehow Eddie finds himself straddling Buck, with Buck clawing at his shoulder blades, searching for purchase, before he realizes that what Buck wants is for his shirt to come off. He leans back to pull his shirt over his head, but before he can return, Buck’s hand stops him, holding him back.

 _Please, don’t stop_ , he thinks, and he’s shocked to realize how invested he is. Buck is silently appraising him, looking over his abdomen as if searching for a single flaw and finding none. The blissful smirk on his face is enough to push Eddie forward, falling onto his lips again as Buck finds a second wind.

Eddie is whipped through the air like a rag doll, and suddenly he is under Buck, with Buck’s groin pressing into his pelvis, and he realizes that he _likes_ losing himself like this, just like he _liked_ it when Buck tossed him over his shoulder like he weighed nothing. Not only does he not mind the inches or the pounds Buck has on him, for some reason it is _turning him on_.

Buck continues to kiss him, starting at his mouth, then _biting_ a trail down his jaw line and pressing his teeth against Eddie’s throat. The idea of it being Buck keeps splitting and rejoining in his head like a kaleidoscope. _This is Buck_ , his brain reminds him, before stuttering, _Of course it is_.

In desperation, his mouth finds purchase against Buck’s throat and sucks hard, trying to leave a mark. _A memento_ , he thinks, to remind himself. It says, _you were here_.

His eyelids are heavy, and Buck is warm against his chest and before he can ask Buck to move, he’s fast asleep and Eddie can do nothing but settle in, pulling a cover off the back of the couch and adjusting the pillow beneath him. If he can just get a little sleep, maybe he can figure out what that crackling feeling is.

* * *

Once his eyes are open, Eddie begins to remember the night before. The proof is in the way Buck’s chest is stuck to his with dried tequila. He can feel the abrasive pebbles of salt between them, and remembers the taste of salt on Buck’s lips. They are still on the couch, and Buck is heavy on top of him, but it isn’t altogether uncomfortable. He’s like a weighted blanket that that vibrates with every breath.

Eddies wonders if he can freeze them in this moment, before Buck wakes up and this all becomes real. Unfortunately, the drinking has caught up to him, and he finds himself pressing his lips to Buck’s temple gently to wake him, “Buck, I have to go.”

“Please,” Buck pleads, and Eddie isn’t sure he’s even awake until he cracks an eye open. “Don’t.”

“Cariño,” he says, the word slipping out before his thoughts have caught up, “I’m not going anywhere. I just have to _go_.”

Buck chuckles on top of him and murmurs, “That’s good, I didn’t want to resort to force, but I _am_ bigger than you.”

He shifts to the side, releasing Eddie from his dead weight, before stretching languidly like a sated cat. Like he had been the one trapped under a giant for the better part of the night.

“Use the upstairs, I’ll use the downstairs,” Buck decides, gesturing toward the stairs before padding away to use the bathroom.

When he’s finished in the bathroom, Eddie takes a damp washcloth and wipes off his abdomen to remove the stickiness. Leaving the room, he finds Buck sitting up in his unmade bed, propped up with pillows and offering Eddie a water bottle.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m still feeling the effects of those shots,” Buck says, taking a sip from his own water bottle. “And I seem to be sticky.”

Buck grazes his fingertips over his own abdomen, and Eddie eyes follow the trail of his fingers. He takes a long drink of water, then comes to a decision. He crawls across the bed on his knees until he reaches Buck. He straddles one of Buck’s thick thighs, his legs stretched open, and sets himself to wiping Buck’s chest. He starts at Buck’s broad pectoral muscles, then drifts down the median of his chest across his abs to his navel, then begins to dip lower. Buck grabs his hand as it hovers just above the dip of his pelvis.

“Not tonight,” Buck says, gently but firmly, and somehow Eddie knows that his implication is that there will be _other_ nights. Eddie’s eyes cling to Buck’s hand holding his, but slowly he raises his eyes to find Buck smiling at him fondly. He takes the washcloth from him and moves it to the bed side table, then motions for Eddie to come closer.

Eddie fits himself against Buck’s side, allowing them to touch from shoulder to thigh, and Buck pulls a cover over them. Absentmindedly, he reaches out to graze the backs of Eddie’s fingers with his own.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Buck asks, probably because he can hear the gears turning in Eddie’s head. For a moment, Eddie is silent, and Buck holds his breath.

Eddie links their knuckles in response, “Not yet. In the morning.”

The answer seems to satisfy Buck and he relaxes, and the sounds of his breathing steadies Eddie until he too drifts off. Just before he loses consciousness, he feels Buck’s lips press against his shoulder, and he smiles.

* * *

When he wakes again, the sun is up. Buck is watching him absently from his own pillow, and Eddie wonders how long he’s been up.

“Hey,” Buck says, a hesitant smile on his face.

Eddie finds himself sobered but still unable to find the words, so he responds in kind, “Hey.”

“So, that was…” Buck starts, unable to wait another moment before knowing where they stand, but he doesn’t seem to know how to finish. Eddie realizes that he is afraid, both of what he might admit and what Eddie might say.

Buck is so open, like he wears his heart outside of his rib cage, and Eddie wants to protect him, to armor him against anyone who would break his heart. He had never meant to find himself in this position, holding Buck’s heart in his hands.

He reaches his hand out, his palm against Buck’s chest, his heart now literally in his hands, and he silently allows himself to feel the steady thud of Buck’s heartbeat against the ball of his hand.

“…something,” Eddie finishes for him, admitting that it was indeed _something_. His hand moves up Buck’s chest to his neck, feeling Buck’s pulse against his palm and pressing his thumb to the purplish bruise he had left there. _You were here_ , he remembers.

He finds Buck’s eyes then and lifts his head until their lips meet. He feels Buck give into him, his relief evident in the way his fingertips hold Eddie’s face as they kiss, long and hard. This means so much more than last night. He no longer tastes the tequila or the salt, now he just tastes…Buck.

“Eddie,” Buck whimpers, and he drags his fingernails down Eddie’s abs. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

Eddie pulls back and sees that Buck’s pupils are blown, and he laughs because it’s Buck, and he is _desperate_ to have his hands on him. He wants so badly to tease him, but instead he gives in.

“Show me,” he growls, and Buck sits up, pulling Eddie with him until they are chest to chest, with Eddie straddling Buck, gaining a few inches on Buck’s face with the height of his thighs. Eddie takes this opportunity to kiss him from above, holding Buck’s face in his hands and grinding his ass against Buck’s erection.

Buck begins to undo his fly, dragging the waist of his jeans down as far as they will go in this position. He seems reassured to find Eddie’s erection pressing against the opening of his briefs, and Buck palms him through the cotton, his kisses turning to teeth against his neck. Eddie presses into his touch, his head swimming, but entirely clear. He swears he hears something knocking, but it could be his own heartbeat in his ears.

“They’ll go away,” Buck says against his neck, confirming that someone was indeed knocking on the door a floor below.

If Buck is going to continue, Eddie isn’t going to stop him, and he lets loose a string of Spanish curse words as Buck sucks at his pulse point while palming him through the fabric.

“Buck?” a voice calls out, and they freeze. The bed isn’t visible from the door, but it won’t take long for them to be discovered.

“Is that your sister?” Eddie whispers, and Buck nods. Eddie dismounts, and Buck stands. Eddie gestures to Buck’s obvious erection and he blanches before covering himself with a pillow.

“Buck?!” Another voice this time, louder. Chimney. Shit.

Eddie strains his face, trying to persuade Buck to answer before anyone comes upstairs. Buck seems unable to get the words out.

“Buck!” Maddie calls out, and now her voice is shrill. She is definitely about to come upstairs.

Finally, sound bursts from Buck’s chest, “Here! I’m here Maddie. _Fuck_.”

He has the good sense to whisper the expletive, then walks to the edge of the loft to prove himself, and Maddie seems to relax. Eddie is still pressed into the pillows like he can camouflage himself.

Eddie can see Buck’s shoulders relax and realizes that he must see the worry on Maddie’s face. He starts down the steps, still holding the pillow in front of him, “I’m sorry Mads, I’m here.”

“You forgot to text me last night,” she says, with a slight accusation in her tone. “In this family we can’t take shit like that for granted. So I figured if we came over, worst case I would call 911, and best case we brought coffee and bagels.”

There were no secrets in this apartment. Eddie could hear the whole conversation from downstairs echoing up into the loft.

“That was nice of you, but as you can see, I am perfectly a-okay,” Buck hedges, and Eddie knows that if he is tuned to hear the deception in Buck’s voice, Maddie must be way ahead of him.

“Evan, why are you holding a pillow like that?” she questions, then before Buck can form a believable response, she exclaims, “Evan Buckley, is that a _hickey_? You are almost thirty years old and you have a _hi_ —oh shit. They’re still here aren’t they? Shit, Buck, I didn’t know. Did Eddie get home safe? Just tell me and we’ll go.”

 _God damn it Buck, speak!_ Eddie thinks, before realizing that he's a lost cause. He realizes too late that his shirt is still pooled on the floor next to Buck's couch, and helps himself to Buck’s chest of drawers to borrow one. He pulls it on over his head and is amused to find that it fits perfectly thanks to Buck’s tight shirt philosophy.

“Buck?” Maddie asks again, just as Eddie appears at the top of the stairs. She looks up, noticing him adjusting his shirt and a Cheshire cat smile crosses her whole face before her mouth forms a perfect O, “Oh?”

It is framed like a question, but Maddie knows the answer. Chimney is a little slower to catch up, but even he stutters through an apology before wandering to the other side of the kitchen, physically removing himself from the heightened Buckley sibling energy.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” Buck observes, and a slow smile curves up at the edges of his mouth. Eddie watches as that damn dimple appears against his skin. Ridiculous.

“You took mine,” Eddie answers, matter-of-factly, and shrugs, “You must have shrunk it, because it fits fine.”

Tension floats through the kitchen, and Chim pops his lips absently to break the silence. He looks like he wishes he had slept in instead of coming on this fool’s errand. Maddie, inconveniently, looks like she is ready to dig her heels in for a lengthy question-and-answer session. He isn’t afraid of Maddie per se; she is his second favorite Buckley sibling after all, but he certainly doesn’t want to be given the third degree by her this early in the morning.

“Chim, want to go get some coffee?” he asks, and four pairs of eyes fall on the drink holder with four steaming cups of coffee in it. Before either Buckley can object, Chim jumps at his chance. He has his car keys in his hand and is halfway across the kitchen before Maddie can say a word.

“Let’s go,” Chim mutters, shoving past Eddie and out the door. Buck gives Eddie a look of betrayal, which Eddie returns with a smirk.

“Don’t worry Buck,” he says quickly, before landing the one movie reference he knows Buck will understand, “ _I’ll be back._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> The tense of this bastard changed multiple times during the process, so while I read over it multiple times, I'm sorry if a little past tense slipped through.


End file.
